Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1887-12-02
Dome Department.
A TRIP TO SOUTH AMERICA.
PUERTO CABELLo, Venezuela.


| accede to your request to furnish you
with a few observations hastily jotted
down while on my trip to this place. hese
jottings shall extend for the present only
from New York to Curacao. But 1880
miles-that's the distance from New York
to Curacoa-of water-logged notes | am
sure you will deem quite sufficient for
one letter.
Leaving New York on the steamship
Caracas, Capt. Hopkins in command, go
ing southeast for six days and eighteen
hours, tying up for three days and Il half
at the Dutch island of Curacao, then let
ting go the ropes, going south for twelve
hours more we find on dropping anchor
at this port we are in latitude Ito and
about IL minutes north. The distance
from the ''chill November, surlv blasts
of New York to the palm-tree tempera-
ture of this city is nearly 1900 miles.
But few passengers are aboard. Yet for
those whose stomachs take kindly to
humpy waters, gently undulating swells
or salt spray splashings, the trip has its
charms. Some might enjoy being lashed
by hurricanes tail or giddily and hur-
riedly watzed aboutby ''daisy' of a cy-
clone just out for half holiday. But
any invitation to hurricane entertain
ment should be obliged to decline; and
as for Waiting with cyclone, well, |
prefer to be excused.
The ride through New York harbor is
truly delightful. Something that cannot
be forgotten. A gentleman on board
with us. who is a great traveller, grows
eloquent in his description of the intoXi-
eating scenery of the Rhine between
Mayence and Cobentz. His rhapsody
seems quite unconfined as he looks
through the telescope of his memory up
on the lovely Adriatic, with island-bult,
artistic Venice i'm the distance. His words
flow on uninteruptedly as in fancy once
again he makes voyage upon the dane
ing Guadalquiver, approaching Seville,
with its Moorish walls, its lofty towers.
its massive gates and its grand cathedral.
But the brilliant vivacity of the eminent
traveller stands blocked, his thoughts
cannot, he says, catch words appropriate
for describing the floating panorama
within the harbor and the scenic pictur-
sequences on either shore, presenting it
self away to Sandy Hook and on to Bar
negat. Still, must | say, charming,
snowy, magnificent was New York har-
Dor as we steamed out for the broad
ocean on that glorious October day.
As far as the eye could see the harbor
yachts. with their white sails catching the
ocean breeze here and there, dotted the
surfy waters. Barges beating their on
ward way, steam tugs and great ocean
steamers putting their blackening smoke
into the bracing air of clear October
sky; all winding in and out, passing
and requesting in a bewildering maze.
Past the statue of Liberty, under the great
Brooklyn bridge, we plough our way.
Upward to the immense structure our
eyes are turned. Upon it we see human
beings like coniured shadows fitting back
and forth. We see, 40 feet above our
heads, what appears like miniature en-
gines. with their train of human lives,
whizZing past one another. Out from
under this marvellous exhibition of inge-
nuity and skill we push on. Now we
pass Coney Island with its lovely autumn
nal foliage, the glory of whose hue is de-
lightfully enhanced in contrast with the
sun-kissed foam of the wind-rufiled wat
ers glinting and sparkling like polished
gems of eXquisite setting. Staten Island,
Long Branch, Far Rockaway are be-
hind us now and Sandy Hook is reached
at last. A yacht, delicate in outline and
trim of build, moves gracefully upon the
waters close to the side of our ship. Our
captain tells us she is the yacht our Vol
unteer ran away from and straightway be-
comes famous and her commander Illus
trious. Yes, that's the defeated Thistle.
Isn't she neat? We all agree that she is,
but she didn't get there all the same.
Now. Barnegat is passed; the land is
lost to sight and we are on the rolling
deep, looking away at that never-varying
circle where sea and sky do meet, calling
to mind your kindness and the pleasant
hour with the distinguished company at
your house on the evening of departure,
and thinking, too, of dear ones left be-
hind in that delightful Green Mountain
town.
A sort of moroseness, not of peevish-
ness but of silence, as the land has slip
ped away, seems to cast its spell about
the mind upon the boundless sea expos
ure. This feeling must be born of mon
otony, for it is everywhere. We thank
our stars it doesn't last throughout our
voyage. Reflection, from the silence and